


We'll Call It Being Picky

by helens78



Category: Queer as Folk (US), Stargate SG-1
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-29
Updated: 2008-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack goes to a club and ends up leaving with a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Call It Being Picky

He's an old man in a club full of young people, but he doesn't feel old; he feels picky. Twenty years ago he could've gone into the back room with any of these guys. Now his standards are higher--he doesn't want some damn twink or a steroid-built muscle freak. As the field of potential hookups gets thinner and thinner, Jack's starting to debate the merits of coming here at all. No one here looks like he could make it past Jack's annoyance and frustration; no one looks like he could fuck some of this need out of Jack's system. _Picky._ Right.

There's someone--mid-thirties, brown hair, black shirt, cowry shell bracelet on his right wrist--but he's there and gone with the lights, flickering in and out of the crowd. Interesting if only because he's different from the other guys here--not too young, not too built, doesn't look like he's using--but he's still moving like he knows how hot he is, like he's sex on wheels and it's a favor if he takes you home. He disappears as Jack's watching.

Jack leans down and puts his forearms on the balcony railing. Another half-hour and he'll shove off; he's got a plane to catch in the morning. He can't keep doing it this way, anonymous meetings in semi-private places. Sooner or later he's going to need something that lasts, something he doesn't have to be two thousand miles away from home to get.

Someone drapes an arm around his waist and bends down next to him. Jack looks over. Brown hair, black shirt, cowry shell bracelet. Yeah, Jack's not surprised, somehow. He nods, and he doesn't try to get out from under the guy's arm.

"I fucking hate hotels," the guy says. "My place?"

Jack takes a deep breath--not for courage; he wants to get the lay of the land, so to speak, by scent. The guy smells like a hard, heavy night of dancing, but he doesn't smell like drugs, doesn't smell like sex--at least not any more than the bar itself does. Jack straightens up and nods to the door. "Come on."

They drive separately, Jack's rental following the other guy's Mustang. He's got a top-floor loft in a building that looks rougher than it is; the renovation budget's clearly been spent on the inside, not the exterior. Jack stops at the sliding front door and rests his hand on the brick wall.

"You got a first name?"

"Brian." Brian gives Jack a shit-eating grin and holds out his hand.

Jack takes it. "I'm Jack."

They make it all the way to the bed. Jack wonders, for half a second, why the hell he went home with Brian; Brian's loft is a place designed to impress guys you bring home to fuck, _young_ guys, guys who still give a shit if your sound system is Bose or your couch costs two months' salary. He wonders why Brian bothered with him; Brian's obviously designed his whole damned look and attitude around eternal youth, and that's not Jack.

But they're on the same page when it comes to the sex. Condoms for both of them, no such thing as playing too safe. Neither one of them really gives a shit about kissing. There's a bit of a wrestle while they try to figure out who's pitching and who's catching, and Jack could win it if he wanted to, but in the end, he's curious if Brian's cock can live up to his attitude. And what the hell, it's been a while since he rolled over.

Brian catches on incredibly fast, faster than anyone else Jack's ever let inside him. He picks up on it when Jack wants him to go harder, hears the hitch in Jack's breath that says _slow down_, and the son of a bitch has _stamina_, just keeps going and fucking _going_ like he could keep this up all night. Maybe he could. Jack's tempted to let him.

When he's totally fucking lost in it, when he lets go and admits to himself that this is just how he's been wanting it, bent over, hands and knees, relentless, Brian gives him a reach-around and squeezes his dick hard. Even through the condom, Brian hits all the right places, twists his hand in just the right way. Jack's flying before he realizes it, and the whole damn room goes white around him.

He takes Brian up on a bottled water and a shower before he leaves; he doesn't ask for Brian's number or leave his. But Jack walks back to his car with a hint of a grin on his face, and if the flight back to Colorado's uncomfortable, it's uncomfortable in all the right ways.

_-end-_


End file.
